


hero to zero

by stellaviatores



Series: turn [1]
Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Doctor Paul Stamets, Emotional Manipulation, Episode Related, Episode: s01e04 The Butcher's Knife Cares Not for the Lamb's Cry, Ficlet, M/M, Married Culmets, Mycologist Hugh Culber, Protective Stamets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-14 03:31:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12998913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stellaviatores/pseuds/stellaviatores
Summary: When people ask why Paul got into medicine, he says what they expect to hear: that he wanted to heal, to protect. That’s bullshit. He really became a doctor to prove people wrong - and when Hugh walks into medbay clutching his bloodied face, he knows, once again, that he’s right.(or: the role reversal au no one asked for)





	hero to zero

**Author's Note:**

> title from ['lemon to a knife fight'](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HwPa71UZRaQ)
> 
> some dialogue borrowed/adapted from 'the butcher's knife cares not for the lamb's cry', as you'd expect

When people ask why Paul got into medicine, he says what they expect to hear: that he wanted to heal, to protect. That’s bullshit. He really became a doctor to prove people wrong - and when Hugh walks into medbay clutching his bloodied face, he knows, once again, that he’s right.

He rolls his eyes and gestures to an empty biobed. It’s routine, now: Hugh presents his injury and doesn’t complain when Paul jabs him with a hypo just a little harder than necessary. “What did you do this time,” Paul grouses, inspecting his husband’s shattered nose. At least Hugh has the decency to look a little sheepish.

“Smashed my face against the console when we jumped,” he replies, vowels thick and congested. Paul winces in sympathy. “My head hurts.”

“You probably fractured your skull, you dumbass.” A few probing touches and it’s confirmed: Hugh Culber is, in fact, a dumbass. “Hold still while I fix this.” How Paul ever ended up with a crackpot scientist who puts this warship before his own safety is forever a mystery. It’s not like he’d ever do this kind of thing if he were in Hugh’s place.

Hugh stays as still as possible, only flinching once while the osteogenic stimulator mends his fracture. He doesn’t complain about Paul waving a dermal regenerator about either, which sets off alarm bells. Usually he’d say it’s a waste of resources, and Paul would argue back, and then they’d have a row in the hallway that would end in both of them being naked and very, very pissed off. It’s unnerving how quiet Hugh is; they should be shouting around now.

Maybe there’s a little of that fight returning when Paul heals the final superficial wounds, bruises rapidly dissolving, and Hugh cranes his head away from the regenerator. “I said, _hold still_. Do you want to end up looking like a fucking Tellarite?”

“Doctor Stamets,” interrupts a voice from Paul’s left, and oh, joy, it’s Captain Dipshit. Lorca stands with his arms crossed, squinting at Hugh’s impassive expression. Hugh opens his mouth to report when Paul interjects, holding a hand to his husband’s chest.

“Are you trying to kill Lieutenant Culber, sir?”

Lorca blinks. “I’m sorry, Doctor?”

“Another millimeter and the palatine bone would have pierced his cortex.”

“And?”

“And,” Paul snaps, “it would have done serious damage to his frontal lobe. But then again," he scoffs, "it’s a highly overrated area of the brain. It’s only the center for memory and emotional expression. Completely unnecessary.”

Hugh’s hand encloses his wrist. “Calm down, honey,” he murmurs, thumb stroking across Paul’s pulse point.

“No, I will not ‘ _calm down, honey_ ’, you could have -”

“Gentlemen,” Lorca cuts in. Hugh’s hand immediately drops. “Every starship, Klingon or Federation, runs on dilithium crystals. If we can’t protect Corvan, the war is lost. So, can you fix the lieutenant’s inability to get us where we need to go?”

“Oh, no you don’t,” Paul says, jabbing at finger at Lorca. “Don’t you go putting this on him. He’s doing the best he can with what little time you’ve given him.”

Frustratingly, Lorca doesn’t even budge. “We don’t have time,” he states. “ _Discovery_ is no longer just a science vessel. This is a warship, and warships need to be ready to jump into the fight when the call is given.”

“This isn’t the mission I signed on for,” Hugh finally says, his words slow and deliberate. Paul raises his eyebrows at Lorca, daring him to strike again, but the Captain is silent. “I’m a scientist, sir, not a soldier. You can’t make me do this.”

Lorca’s response is immediate and, in Paul’s eyes, typical. “Then leave.”

Hugh’s head snaps up. “Sir -”

“If you can’t get this working, lieutenant, or you don’t _want_ to, then leave. Quit Starfleet and go back to Earth and live the rest of your life as a failed fungus expert.” He steps closer to Hugh, voice low. “Is that how you want to be remembered, Culber? As a selfish little man who put his own ego before the lives of others?”

“Captain,” Paul growls, “that is a _completely_ unfair assessment of Lieutenant Culber’s role in -”

“Are you done?” Hugh interrupts, staring at the dermal regenerator Paul’s holding like a weapon to his chest. Paul gapes at him.

“Yes, but I’m not finished with -”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Hugh says firmly, standing. “I’ll do what I can, sir,” he directs to Lorca in as neutral a tone as possible. Lorca inclines his head.

“Then do it, lieutenant. There’s blood on your hands.”

Hugh swallows heavily. He turns on his heel, doesn’t even spare a glance at Paul, and walks straight out of medbay like nothing happened, as if his own Captain didn’t give him the dressing down of a lifetime over something he can’t prevent. It’s enraging how Lorca and his kind can do this, just waltz into their peaceful lives and pressure them to make decisions they were never born to make. Lorca may live for this, but Paul knows that Hugh doesn’t. Hugh has a curious soul; his aims have never strayed from discovery. _And there it is_ , Paul thinks, _there’s the irony._

He’s preparing all this in a sour package to hurl at Lorca, but the Captain has opened a ship-wide hail and is broadcasting the audio transmission from Corvan II. It’s horrific, of course: the screaming, the pleading, the unmistakable sound of human spirit being crushed. Shutting his eyes makes no difference, and as a child calls for their mother Paul tastes bile at the back of his throat. It’s one thing to know about suffering in abstract; another to have it invade your every sense.

But it’s not an excuse to push Hugh like that. Paul sets the dermal regenerator down on the bed, still warm from Hugh’s body, and watches as Lorca retreats back to the bridge. Maybe it’s selfish, but Paul will admit to himself that keeping Hugh safe - keeping him happy and absorbed in his work and out of the warpath - is worth more than the lives beyond his touch. After all, he didn’t become a doctor to save the world; he did it to save his own.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://mutantmeme.tumblr.com)


End file.
